


window licker

by bunbunjolras



Series: Progression [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Nipple Play, Orgasm Denial, dirty dirty porn, imagined voyeurism, use of slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbunjolras/pseuds/bunbunjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhibitionism is simultaneously the right word and the wrong word for what this is. </p><p>----</p><p>Nobody knows Grantaire and Combeferre are sleeping together, but Combeferre decides it's time for this to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	window licker

**Author's Note:**

> This is just porn from start to finish I'm so sorry.
> 
> Title is taken from a song (I think it's aphex twin???) called "Window Licker" but i've never actually listened to it xD

Exhibitionism is simultaneously the right word and the wrong word for what this is. Grantaire is standing in the middle of the sitting room of the apartment that Combeferre shares with Enjolras and Courfeyrac, naked, as he waits for Combeferre to come and join him. He’s currently in the bedroom getting something and Grantaire’s cock is half hard, partly from anticipation but also partly from the fear and embarrassment that somehow gets him off. He’s terrified of what’s going to happen, thoroughly embarrassed by how much it’s all turning him on, and he’s loving every second of it, somehow. The twisted knot of his emotions that sit low in his gut is simmering away, simultaneously hot and cold, good and bad, uncomfortable and also familiar.

Exhibitionism, from what he’s read, is getting off on someone seeing you naked, seeing you exposed, knowing they can see all of your junk and stuff. What gets Grantaire off is someone seeing how helpless he is, how controlled he is, being unable to stop even though someone has their eyes on him, and he knows he’s about to be pressed up against the huge windows that run from floor to ceiling in this apartment, and he’s going to be fucked so thoroughly he can’t even remember his own name. He knows this, because this is what they negotiated. The element of fear that comes with this display is that the window of the apartment looks out over a busy main street, and it’s on the second floor, so easily visible from below. He just hopes no one decides to look up. But he also hopes they do, he wants them to look up and see him flushed and hard and drooling against the glass while Combeferre fucks him, he wants to look them in the eye as they notice him and see the emotions flash across their face – disgust, confusion, and maybe, hopefully, lust.

He’s torn between turning towards the door and following after Combeferre, and staying still where he is, looking out of the window and wondering who’s down on the street waiting to look up and see him there. The thought of it is making his blood race a little more, and he takes a few deep breaths to ground himself, and by the time he’s finished calming himself down – his cock is now closer to erect than not but he’s breathing more evenly – he can hear Combeferre’s footsteps coming closer. He inhales deeply through his nose as he feels hands sliding around his waist and lips on his hairline, and he hums appreciatively as Combeferre bites his earlobe.  
“Hope you’ve got a lot of stamina,” Combeferre mumbles quietly, right next to his ear. “I’m going to take my time opening you up, sweetheart. But I have a question for you first.”

He brings his hands up so as he can slide his fingers, nails leading the way, over Grantaire’s nipples, making him arch his back and breathe a bit more deeply.

“Do you want to see for yourself all the people that are down there?” he asks, and Grantaire almost stops breathing. “Or do you want me to describe what’s happening while you’re blindfolded?”

Seeing people down there will be a thrill to him, it would be really, really hot to see people just down beneath him and wonder if they would look up. But leaving it to his imagination – and no doubt to Combeferre too – is going to be even more arousing, and his mouth goes dry as he places his hands over Combeferre’s and slips his fingers between his lover’s to pinch his own nipples. Grantaire is only mildly obsessed with nipples – he loves it when they’re being pinched and bitten and he loves feeling someone else’s stiffen beneath his tongue or between his teeth, and Combeferre knows this so he pushes Grantaire’s hands aside and tweaks the sensitive nubs hard and feels Grantaire squirm in his arms.

“Blindfold me,” Grantaire mutters, breathing fast and rough. “Please, Sir, I want to be blindfolded.”

They’ve slipped seamlessly into D/s territory already – they’d established the parameters of the scene earlier in the day, but they tend to just fall into the scene when they get going, no clear starting point that they can remember, they just start. Combeferre is always Sir, and Grantaire is, depending on the scene, his boy, his pet, his slut, and, on one memorable occasion, his puppy.

“So polite,” Combeferre says proudly, and, awkwardly, walks Grantaire forwards towards the window, legs pressing up behind his and dictating each of his steps. “Take a good look, love. Want you to know what you need to be picturing when I’m fucking you.”

There’s loads of people down there. People ducking in and out of shops on their lunch hour, students handing out fliers for a cheap night out, stressed businessmen searching for somewhere to eat, despondent teens cutting school and skulking around with their heads down to avoid getting caught. Any one of them looks up at him and looks long enough then more will look up, and Grantaire bites his lip as he thinks about it.

“You ready, sweet boy?” Combeferre asks, still pressed up close behind him.

“Yeah, I’m ready. I’m ready, Sir,” he mumbles, his voice indistinct and rough with the new wave of lust sweeping through him.

It’s a tie – a silk neck tie that he knows for a fact doesn’t belong to Combeferre, it belongs to Enjolras, and he gasps as it slides down over his eyes. He’s aware that he’s naked, he’s aware of it as Combeferre, once he’s finished with the tie, brings his hands down to Grantaire’s bare waist and moves him closer. He drops his head and it thuds ever so quietly against the glass, and Combeferre’s hands come up under his arms and guide his hands up to the window, and Grantaire spreads his fingers across it gently. If he moves his hips any further forward he knows his cock – now entirely erect, straining and hot – will touch the smooth glass surface, but he’s not been told he can move on his own, so he doesn’t, he waits for Combeferre to tell him he can or to move his hips. He imagines his breath is fogging up the glass, and he can hear the soft rustle of clothing as Combeferre strips off.

“Do you think there’s anyone down there we know?” Combeferre asks him as he leans in to kiss his neck, letting Grantaire shudder back against him. “Look, I think that’s Prouvaire down there.” He punctuates the statement by bringing his hands down Grantaire’s back and gripping his hips tightly, pulling him back so he’s almost bent at the waist, his hands squeaking down the glass as he leans against it to keep from falling down.  
Grantaire moans thickly as Combeferre digs his finger into his hips, and one hand leaves his skin and there’s a rustle or plastic and the light click of something opening.

“I wish it was your mouth rolling this condom onto me,” Combeferre tells him, and Grantaire’s breathing quickens again. “Your hot, eager, slutty mouth can do this better than my hand can. Made for cocks, wasn’t it?”  
Grantaire nods, whining quietly as Combeferre grips his hips. He’s terrified and exhilarated for a moment at the idea that he’s just going to push into him, that he’s got the condom on now so he can just sink into Grantaire without any preamble, but the wet, cold, probing finger that presses against his hole proves him wrong very quickly. They’d had sex at Grantaire’s place that morning – well, it wasn’t sex, it was a vigorous fuck in the kitchen that started after Grantaire had dropped a spoon and bent at the waist to retrieve it. What else was Combeferre supposed to do, when presented with such an opportunity? But that had been in the morning so he probably wasn’t that open any more, and Combeferre did so love working Grantaire open with his fingers and watching him write.

“Status report,” Combeferre says once he’s pushed his finger as far in as it will go and given it a testing flex.

“G-good,“ Grantaire manages, and he’s forgotten about the window momentarily while he focuses on the weirdness of the finger in him. The feeling passes and Grantaire relaxes slowly into it, into the feeling of Combeferre’s fingers easing in and out of him – just one for a few minutes, nice and slow, before he adds another, then another, all three of them twisting and moving inside of him and occasionally brushing against his prostate and making him moan.

“I think someone just saw you,” Combeferre says after a moment of silence, and Grantaire’s so shocked, so suddenly reminded that he could be being observed that he cries out and rocks forwards, almost off of his partner’s fingers altogether. “Stay still, you stupid boy, or I won’t fuck you at all, I’ll just tie you up here and go and point you out to people on the street.”

Grantaire gives another cry at that, the idea so fucking stunning that he curls his hands into fists and bites his lip and has to struggle to keep his hips still. He wants to touch himself. He wants to pinch and tug at his nipples till they ache and press his fingers into his mouth (or better yet, take Combeferre’s cock in and suck it) and he wants to be filled with a cock or a silicone replacement and he wants, so very desperately, to jerk himself off until he comes on the glass. But he doesn’t. He stays still and shifts his hips ever so slightly at every press of Combeferre’s fingers in an attempt to get him to move faster.

It’s no use, of course – Combeferre is totally okay with going at a glacial pace, he enjoys having his boy writhing on his cock, or even just on his fingers, and he twists his hands and crooks his fingers against Grantaire’s prostate to make him jerk forward, and he grins sharply behind Grantaire as he pushes him forward, nudging his feet inch by inch with his own until the boy is more upright against the glass and when he jolts again, when Combeferre bites his shoulder, the head of his cock bumps into the cool glass and leaves a smudge of precome behind.

“There’s a woman down there, slut,” he says, voice a little tighter than it had been before, more restrained to keep from betraying how turned on he was by this. He’s lying, of course – no one notices what goes on up here, it’s a little too high, and Combeferre doesn’t tell him that the street is emptying slowly, and before long it’ll be almost deserted. Grantaire looks like he’s halfway gone already, mouth hanging open as he struggles to breathe smoothly, his erection pressed obscenely up against the glass when Combeferre nudges his hips forwards, and he’s flushed down his chest, which only happens when he’s really wound up. Combeferre pulls all of his fingers out and grips his cock, rubbing the head of it down between Grantaire’s cheeks until it catches on his rim, and then he speaks again. “There’s a pretty young thing down there in a cute little floral sundress. She’s looking right at you, you filthy whore.”

The words have the desired effect – Grantaire shoves back onto him almost mindlessly, a short, desperate grunt escaping his lips as he does so. Combeferre’s hands come up to Grantaire’s chest and he digs his nails into the soft skin around his nipples and listens to him mewl as he fidgets on the length of his erection. He rolls his hips and pulls out slowly before thrusting back in, repeating this cycle of slow outward movement then sudden pushing in before he started to make smoother thrusts, nice and even and carefully paced to keep Grantaire from coming too quickly but also to keep him from getting disinterested – as if he could

“She’s – oh look, she’s getting her phone out.” A guttural moan. “Is she going to call the police, do you think? Is she going to report you for being a dirty little slut? Or is she going to take a photo and save it until she’s back at home later so she can touch herself as she thinks about it in private like a normal person?” A strangled gasp. Combeferre twists one of his nipples hard and Grantaire clenches around him. The cry he gives is bestial and desperate. “You’re so fucking loud they can probably hear you out there.”

Grantaire’s lost, he’s so adrift in a sea of lust and delicious pain and mind-numbing desperation that he can barely think. Combeferre’s cock is in his ass, brushing against his prostate every now and then, and his fingers, clever and nimble, are on his nipples and his voice is in his ear and his whole world has narrowed to these things, and to the feeling of the glass on his poor, hard cock when he thrusts desperately forwards when Combeferre’s hips slam into his, and his hands are sweaty and he’s going to come soon, far too soon, or he’s going to pass out and he doesn’t know which one he’d prefer. He’s vaguely aware that fingers have left his nipples and are now pressing into his mouth and he suckles them automatically, greedily, as Combeferre starts to speak again, right against his ear as he fucks him.

“There’s a man in the building opposite watching us,” Combeferre tells him, and Grantaire moans the drools around his fingers. “He’s got his cock out and he’s jerking it, real quick just like I know you’d like. He’s watching you, and yet he’s still not as perverted as you, little slut. You’re filthy for wanting this, aren’t you? Writhing on my cock and drooling around my fingers because they’re not quite a dick but they’re the next best thing. You’re right, your mouth really was made for a cock in it. Gonna see if that old man down there wants to fuck your ass while I take your mouth because I know you’d fucking love it, no matter who it is, just as long as you’re being filled.”

Grantaire cries and tenses and there are suddenly fingers around his cock and balls and it feels like a ring and he spasms and jolts forwards again, thudding up against the glass but he can’t come. He cries and tries to writhe back against Combeferre while simultaneously pushing up against the window to get some sort of pressure on his cock, but it’s no use – Combeferre, who studies human anatomy and all of its quirks for fun, has decided he’s not allowed to come yet, and so he can’t.

“No no no, not yet,” Combeferre coos in his ears, and Grantaire sobs roughly, still writhing between Combeferre and the glass, both cool and unrelenting now that Combeferre has stopped moving, cock buried inside of Grantaire. He pulls his fingers out of his sub’s mouth and listens to him cry for a moment and make wordless, desperate pleas. “Status report,” he says eventually, when the worst of the noises have ceased.  
Grantaire bucks against him one last time and makes a noise like a wounded animal. “Please,” he moans immediately. “I’ll do anything you want, just let me come, please, please, Sir, let me come I have to – I’m gonna – please, why won’t you let me?”

Combeferre clicks his tongue softly and starts to fuck him again, slow, smooth, agonisingly shallow thrusts that make Grantaire’s cries start up again. “There’s a crowd out there for you, Grantaire.” Combeferre never uses his name in a scene, never, so the use of it here shocks him into silence. “All our friends. I sent them messages to come over, to stand right down there in the road and look up so they can see you.” 

Grantaire sobs and thrusts up into Combeferre’s hands, unable to stop himself from doing it, and Combeferre kisses the heated skin of his neck gently.

“And once everyone else saw them looking up they looked up too, they’re all watching you Grantaire, and you look so filthy, so slutty that even I’m embarrassed for you.” Grantaire’s cock twitches in Combeferre’s hand, and there’s nothing he can do to stave off the impending orgasm now so he speaks faster. “How is anyone going to be able to look you in the eye now, now that they know you’re a slut. They’ll expect you to drop to your knees for them, and you’ll do it, won’t you? You’ll suck any cock that’s offered, won’t you?”

He lets go of Grantaire’s cock and holds him up as he comes, not stopping Grantaire as he braces himself against the window with one hand and brings his hand down to wring the most of his orgasm out of his cock as he can, face pressed against the window while Combeferre fucks him through it, chasing his own orgasm quickly and coming a minute later.

Grantaire moans with every movement, still, and he’s still trembling and twitching as Combeferre pulls out, his belly dripping come and his cock still more hard than not as Combeferre helps him sit down, panting and whining and making aborted movements to touch himself, then Combeferre, and then the streaks of his own ejaculate on the window.

“Fuck,” Grantaire murmurs eventually, after a few minutes of silence and heavy breathing, and he’s struggling to sit up on his own, loose limbed and pliant as he is. He’s exhausted, somehow, even though the whole encounter didn’t last even twenty minutes, he still feels like he ran a marathon. He brings his hand up to the blindfold – the silk scarf now drenched in sweat – and Combeferre’s hand grips his wrist.

“The second you take that off you have to clean up the window. With your tongue.”

Grantaire doesn’t hesitate to pull it off and he drops his head back to look up at Combeferre.

“That was…That was the most intense thing I’ve ever done. I just had the biggest orgasm of my life and I still want to come again.” His cock was partially hard against his leg as he pushed up onto his hands and knees to crawl towards the window, and Combeferre watched appreciatively as he leaned into the window. With a tired moan Grantaire leaned in and ran his tongue up the glass, through a line of his own come, shuddering lightly as he did so.

It took a few minutes for him to clean the window – even then there were still streaks left behind that won’t come off without a cloth and some window cleaner not comprised for ejaculate and saliva. Combeferre will have to sort it out before Courfeyrac and Enjolras come home.

Grantaire turns and shuffled up towards Combeferre, sliding between his legs and leaning up for a kiss, salty and hot. “Can we go to bed please? I want to be comfy for my next orgasm.”

“Okay,” Combeferre agrees, bringing his hands up to slide into Grantaire’s hair. “I can tell you about my next plan. It involves Enjolras and a webcam.”


End file.
